By the Beam of My Flashlight
by Winam
Summary: Mulder endeavours to discover Scully's darkest secret.


TITLE: By The Beam Of My Flashlight  
SUMMARY: Mulder endeavours to discover Scully's darkest secret.  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never was, never will be (even if I wished it was). It all belongs to CC and 1013 Productions.

BY THE BEAM OF MY FLASHLIGHT

He walks to the cliff's edge and meets the breeze with a sigh. The salt of the spray plays against his lips as he inhales lungfulls of air. The ocean's barrage is loud even to his city-bred ears, playing music whose volume can only be altered by nature. He lets its melodies sink into his mind, soothing it, calming it, healing it.

The grass beneath his feet seems soft and inviting. Easing himself on to the grass, he lies down oblivious to the dew that soaks his back.  
He can see the stars shimmering through the misty air, but he does not think of their mysteries tonight. No, he wonders about a mystery that is much closer than the billion points of light overhead.

A mystery that is back in the motel room adjacent to his own.

He ponders. He wonders. The outcome of his thoughts does not particularly surprise him. For the better part of six years he had ended up with the same conclusion every time he thought of the subject.

What is Scully's real hair colour?

He could not figure it out.

When he first met Scully her hair had been a mousy brown. Then a few weeks later that brown made way for more auburn tresses. Since then her hair colour has darkened and lightened. Presently it is darker and layered, not simply left in a bob like in previous years. He suspects that brown is her original colour, but he has yet to find the courage to ask her.

Scully can be very sensitive when it comes to her hair. In fact, she can be downright violent if anyone even suggests she is having a 'bad hair day'. He can actually sympathise with her considering how much time she spends washing, drying and styling it daily. If he spent that much time on his hair each morning he would like to think of it as perfect. But Scully's hair has passed the point of perfection and reached the point of immaculation. He cannot think of a time when her hair was out of place, even after a twelve hour stake out.

What is her secret? Does she have a stylist hidden in the pockets of her power suits? No, her jackets are so tight they cannot possibly hide anything. Does she have a double that secretly replaces her whenever a strand of hair strays? Or maybe a time-space anomaly conveniently appears so that Scully can brush back her recalcitrant tresses without anyone knowing? Whatever it may be he will not be at peace until he finds out.

Slowly, he pushes himself up from the wet ground. The cold wind digs into his wet skin but he is unfazed by the chill, so determined is he to solve this mystery. The stars have long disappeared behind thick clouds. It is so dark he can barely see his hands.

He stumbles a little on the uneven ground as he makes his way towards the flickering motel sign. Its meagre light illuminates the path to the motel. When he reaches the balcony he finds her room dark and the curtains on its wide windows drawn indicating that she is mostly likely asleep.  
He slips into his room and grabs his flashlight from the bedside table. Quietly putting an ear against the connecting door he strains to hear any sounds coming from the other side. Silence.

They agreed long ago to keep any connecting motel room door unlocked in case of extreme emergencies. It made sense considering how many times the door has been used. Of course, at times Scully disagreed with his definition of 'emergency', but he maintains that if it is urgent enough for one of them, it is urgent enough for both of them. This is one of those times.

Turning the knob, he pushes the door open with the slowness and care of a professional thief, the hinge producing only the slightest creak.  
He walks through the door and stands in the darkness waiting for his eyes to adjust. Soon he sees the curtained window, and the outline of the bed. As he moves towards the bed he hears the whisper of Scully's breathing.

He takes a few quiet steps towards the bed. Scully is a light sleeper and can awake at the softest of sounds. She has been known to rush to his room when he did nothing more than accidentally trip over his own suitcase. He doesn't know why but Scully has trained her ears to his room. It may be comforting to have someone care for his welfare, but it also annoys him to know that Scully wakes up every time he takes a leak. He doesn't complain though, and like a million other issues in their relationship it remains unspoken.

An incoherent murmur stops him in his tracks. He watches Scully sigh, scratch her head, and roll over on to her side. He lets out his breath in relief.

So close.

In the darkness he can see that her hair is ruffled only slightly by the pillow. Is it real? He has touched her hair numerous times -- it felt real, but could real hair maintain such shape? There must be an explanation somewhere. He steps into the bathroom and turns on his mini Maglite to search the cabinets. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Brush. Perfume. Deodorant. Lipstick. He opens every cabinet but does not even find a can of hairspray. Impossible.

Stepping back into her room he eyes her suitcase. Only clothes but no hair care products. What is going on?

He flashes his Maglite about the room, no longer caring if he woke Scully up. Frantically searching the room, he sees another door. The closet. The secret must be in the closet. He slams open its door and attacks the coathangers.

"Mulder?"

Scully's voice. Mulder ignores her in favour of searching her jacket pockets.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Finding the truth, Scully, the truth you've hidden from me since we've met."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You know very well." he sneers as he scrounges through the closet.

"No, I don't -- please care to enlighten me." she says sarcastically.

He pulls a coat off its hanger, digs into its pockets, and finding nothing flings it to the floor.

"I've never thought of you as a vain person, Scully -- or at least I didn't until I thought hard about it. You are vain. You care about your appearance and you never seem to be unkempt. Then, I started to notice little things that I usually take for granted, like the fact that your suits are neatly pressed even when there's not an iron or a laudromat to be found. Or how you always seem to have makeup on, even when you're in bed."

Finding nothing of significance in the closet, he pulls open the nearby drawers.

"But one thing puzzled me more than that or any X-File we've ever encountered. It puzzled me so much that I had to find out the answer for myself or I'd go mad. I couldn't ask you about it because you'd snap quicker than a piranha, so desperate causes call for desperate measures."

"And is this suppose to explain why you busted into my room _while I'm in it_ and trashed it? Just to solve a little insignificant puzzle? Typical."

"You may think it typical of me, but I do have a point here."

"And what is your point? I haven't heard you mention anything of value as yet. I could easily charge you with break and enter."

"And I could have waltzed into the sherrif's office and asked for a warrant to search my partner's room for the thing that makes her suits so perfect." he laughs. "Besides, I haven't made my point as yet. Apart from having a perfect outfit and perfect makeup you also have perfect hair."

"Hair?" she replies peevishly, "What about my hair?"

"Ah, here's where the plot thickens." he says, knowing very well he's hit a raw nerve. "It's never tangled or ruffled in anyway. As you very well know there's a certain lack of hair care products in this room -- you don't even own a hairdryer! Therefore it is technically impossible to achieve perfect hair."

"Are you saying there's something unnatural about my hair?"

"Well, yes." he answers, moving to turn on the light. "I mean just look at it all per--."

He freezes. "What?" she asks self-consciously.

"There is something definitely unnatural about your hair." he says, staring at the top of her head. He has yet to take his finger off the light switch.

"What about my hair?"

He points at her in horror. "Er, what happened to it?"

"What do you mean what happened?" she retorts and reaches up to feel her hair, "There's nothing wrong with my..."

And discovers she has none -- her wig had fallen off while she was asleep. Scully sinks red-faced into her pillow.

Mulder grins, "Point proven."

finis.


End file.
